


I'm Yours (And You Are Mine)

by Horsegirl_PanickedKilljoy



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Asexuality, BDSM themes, Collars, D/s, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hope no one I know finds this, M/M, Ryden, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horsegirl_PanickedKilljoy/pseuds/Horsegirl_PanickedKilljoy
Summary: Ryan loves being Brendon's even if they don't fuck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so basically in this fic Ryan and Brendon are ace but in a D/s relationship because it helps Ryan's anxiety and Brendon likes to be in charge. Ryan's a masochist, too, but only because pain helps him to relax.  
> It's confusing and I don't know if anyone else in the world is like that but I'm projecting onto characters tonight (morning? 3am) and I'm not sorry. I'm probably going to edit this and make it longer later but for now here you go.

Ryan fingers the collar buckled around his neck, catching his finger in the ring and tugging on it a bit. He feels the tag, too, that irrefutably claims him as _Brendon’s._ The tag contains Brendon’s name, engraved into the shiny metal, and directly above it are the letters _P.O._ Property of.

Ryan loves it.

It’s not as though he has no say in decisions, just that Brendon generally takes the lead, especially when Ryan is uncomfortable in a situation. At restaurants, Brendon will order Ryan’s food for him, and when a conversation involving the both of them crops up, Brendon does the majority of the talking.

With Brendon, Ryan finds it a thousand times easier to step out of his comfort zone. If he starts to feel like he can’t breathe, like his brain is short-circuiting, Brendon grabs his hand and Ryan focuses on the fact that he is _Brendon’s._ It’s odd, sure, and perhaps to the observer looks different, but it works for them and that is all that matters.

Perhaps Ryan’s favorite thing about Brendon is that he always seems to know when Ryan needs space. Almost daily he just needs some time to himself to decompress, to sit in the living room or the bedroom and read or browse the internet. Brendon always respects this need, and Ryan is eternally grateful for that.

 

~~

 

Ryan throws down his pencil in frustration. The words that he is writing down are all wrong, and for the life of him he can’t seem to get them right. He stares at Brendon’s back, who is hunched over his desk and working on sheet music or some shit.

“Brendon? Bren, my head is killing me.”

Brendon turns around, concerned. “A headache?”  
Ryan shakes his head miserably, hands balling the sheets into his fists. “Thoughts. I can’t get rid of them. Can’t, can’t…”

“Oh.” Brendon gets up from his place by the desk and makes his way to the bed. “Alright. What do you need?”

Ryan looks up at him, pleading for something, for anything really. “I need it to hurt. Please.”

Brendon nods in understanding. “I want you on your knees. On the floor, facing me.”

“Yes sir.” Ryan hurries to comply, his knees hitting the carpet with a dull thud after he clambers off of the bed. His hands are clasped together behind his back, and his bowed head is only inches from the floor. They start each of their scenes like this, partly to give Ryan a moment to calm down and collect himself, and partly to allow Brendon time to decide what he’s going to do.

Ryan stays in position for around five minutes, and he feels his breathing even out over the span of time. Brendon watches him, but refrains from touching, until the time is up.

“Ryan. I want you on the bed, on your back. Take your shirt off, and…hmm, take your pants off too.”

“Yes sir.” Ryan yanks his shirt over his head and nearly tumbles over in an attempt to rise from the floor. He removes his pants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, and climbs onto the bed. As soon as he is laying on his back, arms at his sides, Brendon advances toward him.

“Safeword?” Brendon asks. Because, yeah, even though their scenes aren’t sexual, Brendon insists that Ryan have a safeword. In case things get too intense, or he need to stop for a moment.

“Hobo.”

Brendon smiles and ghosts his lips over the side of Ryan’s cheek. “Excellent. I want you to close your eyes, can you do that for me?”

Ryan nods and allows his eyelids to slip closed. He wills his body to relax, Brendon has him, Brendon is in control now.

He hears the soft thuds of Brendon walking to the bathroom, and Ryan finds that if he concentrates enough he can hear Brendon’s individual breaths. His mind is beginning to go fuzzy around the edges by the time that he hears Brendon return to the room. He hears something get set down on the bedside table, and then a fiery hot pain engulfs his chest.

He arches into it, moaning in pain even though he craves it. Brendon makes gentle shushing sounds, and runs a hand through Ryan’s hair.

“Shh, you know what it is. It’s wax. Try to relax.”

Ryan is too caught up in the pain to register most of Brendon’s words. He can already feel himself dropping, can feel himself surrendering all control to his Dom.

More wax hits his chest and partially his stomach, and it feels like Brendon has dumped an entire bucket of it onto him even though rationally he knows that that is not true. It’s scalding, and when it hits his skin it is all that he can focus on.

He arches his back, and then he’s sinking. His mind goes white, painful sensations being the only thing that he recognizes besides his continued sinking. He hears Brendon’s voice in the background, but it sounds disassociated and far away. A rumble at the edge of his consciousness.

He’s content. He feels so safe and warm and he never wants to leave this safe headspace that he has sunk into. A hand brushes over his face, and then a pair of lips presses against his forehead. Kisses during scenes are restricted to quick pecks on the lips or forehead kisses, because neither want the scene to be sexual. It feels as through kissing is separate from scenes, and neither have the desire to mix them.

“Ryan. Ry, we’re done.” Brendon’s voice is faint, far far away. Ryan moans in contentedness and rolls over to face him.

“C’…c’mere.” Ryan clumsily reaches toward Brendon, attempting to grab his boyfriend’s hand without opening his eyes. Brendon chuckles and sets down something onto the bedside table. He crawls into bed beside Ryan, and pulls the covers over them both.

“You did so well, Ry. So so well. I’m proud of you.”

Ryan practically purrs under Brendon’s praise, and he snuggles into his chest. They’ll clean up later, Ryan knows, they’ll flake off of the wax into the bathtub once Ryan returns to himself. For now, though, Ryan revels in the comfort that his boyfriend provides.

He stays in the headspace for upwards of an hour, hovering the line between consciousness and sleep. Brendon holds him, and presses kisses to his hair while mumbling about miscellaneous topics.

Ryan feels the collar press into his neck and smiles. Brendon is his as much as he is Brendon’s, and he would rather have it no other way. 


End file.
